Loose Ends
by Apple in the Ocean
Summary: Alex's life has always had tangles of loose threads trailing absently after secrets and missing people. Why don't you take up the chance to pick up a few of those loose ends yourself and find out where they lead you? (An attachment piece to The Price of a Collar, filled with all of those niggly bits of information which you'd love to see…) inside AN explains further.


**So, the long awaited attachment piece!...*drum roll fades, audience member coughs and scowls* Yes! I KNOW it's taken me ****_ages! _****And to you loyal fans of ****_The Price of a Collar, _****I'm ****_sorry! _****I've been so busy these past weeks, and I ****_refuse _****to give you a rushed and rubbish chapter! ANYWAY! I'm working on that chapter now, so…let's talk about this!**

** This is an attachment piece (I already ****_said that!_****) and will be written for you, my lovelies. So, the only thing I ask from you is reviews and what you want me to write! Give me a word to base something off, an occurrence, or something in the ****_Price of a Collar _****that you view as a scene you'd like to hear more of! Gettit? Gottit? Good? (If you still don't get it- PM me).**

**Written for avidinsomniac and J'aime lire! (If you suggested this and I forgot to mention you then, uh, sorry. Tell me!)**

**DISCLAIMER- This is for THE WHOLE DARN THING! I do NOT own any of Anthony Horowitz' characters or anything, yeah? I only own my plot and writing you nincompoops! (Yeah, I said it)**

* * *

**Guardian 1- Hedgehog Heart:**

Stars studded the sky in faltering gasps of silver, the moon hanging low and embracing the night in a motherly, tender hold. It was the sort of night where things happened; lovers dreaming in boats, wishes being granted or stillness finally descending onto a churning and restless soul. It was just one of those Nights.

Then why, Agent Maxwell thought, finally forcing his eyes away from the spider-spun sky to fix themselves upon the child that sat hunched opposite him- was he currently trapped in the most unromantic thing he could ever think of?

Looking after a…teenager.

Even the mightiest of men trembled at such a challenge.

A _teenager. _All spots and tantrums; girls or boys and messy bedrooms, rough voices that had the tendency to squawk into a higher pitch and finally- _finally-_ the dreaded _hormones. _Hormones. Which spelt that one, terrible word:

_Mood swings. _

Agent Maxwell shuddered before he could catch himself and then quickly glanced back at the boy to make sure he hadn't noticed.

He hadn't. He sat with his head bowed, fingers tugging at tatty sleeves, blond hair flopping messily into the kid's brown eyes.

Star-filled silence drifted airily past.

Clearing his throat purposefully, Agent Maxwell struggled to hide a weary sigh when the boy didn't look up but merely twitched at the sound and then lapsed into that worrying quiet.

Not knowing things was something that Agent Maxwell couldn't stand.

And he knew nothing about this kid.

It had been one in the morning when the Bank had called him in. Bleary eyed and swigging coffee with (definitely unhealthy) speed, he had stumbled into the head office, only for his foggy mind to try and chaotically piece together what he was being told.

He was to look after a teenager.

A _teenager._

Shaking his head, determining not to get sucked into those thoughts again, he concentrated again on the matter that had only- he glanced at his smart Fossil watch- happened two and a bit hours ago.

Well, he'd fuzzily turned to look at who Mrs Jones was talking about, (to his sleep frazzled mind he could only hear "blah, blah, blah…Alex…blahdeblahblah…you…" and so on) and was confused to see a teenager sat hunched in a chair- his hand cuffed to the armrest of the chair he was sat on. He could remember frowning at the handcuff, taking in the slouch of the teen; how he didn't even bother to look up at him when he entered, the shadows under his eyes, the scruffiness of his general appearance and finally, most worryingly, the dried bloodstains around his nose and were those tear tracks on his…?

The teen had turned his head away.

The rest of what had been said was a blur (other than Mr Blunt's ominous and serious _"Find out what happened in America" _or something), and so now here he was sat outside a new house in the garden, attempting to get the kid to talk.

He hadn't been successful so far.

It was like talking to a brick wall.

A teenager shaped brick wall.

A _teenag-_

"What?"

"What?" Agent Maxwell found the word slipping sloppily out of his mouth, and he hurriedly tried to fix it, straightening his startled expression (he wasn't _expecting _the kid to speak!) into one of cool interest.

Alex- that was his name- twitched his head up to his, eyes lingering on his own with a hardness and a coldness that surprised Agent Maxwell. "Why are you staring at me?"

Forcing down a blush of embarrassment and hiding it behind a (manly- very manly) cough, he straightened up and tightened his lips. "I wasn't staring," he almost winced at his defensive words.

The teen didn't seem to believe it, either. His lips twitched (chapped, dry) and he looked about to say something witty in reply before some overwhelming tiredness crept into his eyes again, and he hung his head, hair flopping back down to cover his eyes again.

Awkwardly, a little anticlimactically, Agent Maxwell dropped the square to his shoulders- he'd been readying himself to reply with something too. Rubbing his head (in macho carelessness. Not awkwardness) he cleared his throat again, this time receiving no visible indication that the boy was paying attention to him. "Want to go…inside?" he tried, eyes moving around the place as he attempted to figure out what to _do _with the (silent, so weirdly _quiet) _kid.

"OK." The admission was barely audible- just a softly sounding breath and a straightening up, eyes remaining locked on the (was it _really _that interesting?) grass.

Nodding, feeling oddly thoughtful, he led the boy into their new living arrangement, locking the door behind him.

Once again, Silence followed them in.

Clearing his throat (argh. He really did need to get rid of that…sore throat. Yeah.) yet again, he gestured vaguely around him, feet shifting as he attempted to find the correct stance. "Erm, you can just…do whatever, I suppose…"his voice trailed off weakly as the teen moved silently away to the sitting room.

Deciding to follow afterward, rubbing at his forearm, Agent Maxwell wandered after the hunched and retreating back.

He hovered as he waited for the teen to sit down, trying to look busy with sorting out the cushions of the chair, unwilling to let the teen know how curious he was of the kid's situation. Noticing that he had now sat down (stiffly. Man. Kid's nowadays just didn't know how to _relax) _on one of the grey striped sofas, he tried to begin his task of tempting words out of the teen. "So…kid," he began haltingly, also lowering himself onto a chair and leaning inwards, face deceitfully casual (oh yeah. He still had it). "Why do you need protection?"

An awkward silence, filled only with Agent Maxwell's anticipating breaths and the clocks jeering laugh, Agent Maxwell thought that Alex hadn't heard him, and made to ask the question again when the teen finally decided to answer.

The kid's breaths hitched and Maxwell stared as the teens hands gripped harshly at his knees, shoulders hunching even more as if he was trying to disappear. "I don't _want _to be here," he almost choked out, hands clenching tighter around his knees.

Swallowing, licking his dry lips (he was _getting somewhere!) _he tried to (figuratively speaking) gently poke the hedgehog with a stick- urging him out of his prickly little shell. "No? Then why _are _you here?"

Alex ripped his hands from his knees, twisting his head to the side, a grimace (of pain?) curling his lips. "They _made _me. I didn't- they never _ask. _No one ever _asks! _I just want to be- want to be left _alone! Why doesn't anyone leave me alone?" _his voice was cracking, breaking, shattering.

For some reason, ever since Agent Maxwell had met the kid, he knew that he was not one to show his emotions clearly. And yet…there he was- close to tears, voice rough and harsh with badly restrained agony.

But for _what?_

"Someone's after you," his voice was firm. A fact, not a question. Ignoring the teens snort, he carried on, eyes steady and burning into the side of Alex's turned head. "Who are they and what do they want?"

_Who are they and what do they want?_

Slowly, the teen turned to face him, eyes hard and so _cold. _Like icicles melded into chocolate orbs- frozen and so-so _dead. _"Why do you want to _know?"_

The ferocity of his voice startled Agent Maxwell, and for a while, no coherent sentences could form in his head. Swallowing down his confusion, he shook his head, leaning back into his chair. "No, I- I just thought it'd help if I knew…someone to confide in- you know?"

For some reason, those words did not have the desired cooling effect. Alex Rider drew up in his chair, eyes smouldering and almost _snarling, _animalistic rage in his eyes tempered with frosted _fear. _The kid was _scared. _" 'Someone to _confide _in'?" his voice was raspy and sharp, hands pushing against the sides of the sofa and arms trembling like a desperate autumn leaves. "I don't _need anyone _to confide in! I don't _need anyone! I don't need anyone!" _his voice was trembling on a shout, breaths harsh and tight in his chest.

Agent Maxwell took a deep breath.

Through winding him up, maybe the truth would burst noisily through like a jack-in-a-box. Steeling himself, ready to pick up on any loose threads in Alex's words, he formed his speech. "You're- what? Fourteen?"

"Fifteen," he cut in sharply.

Ah, so a sore point. "Fifteen. Whatever. Then _why _would _anyone important _be chasing after a fifteen year old?"

"What's that meant to mean?" the teen barked.

Rolling his eyes and sighing, folding his hands into his lap, he settled back again, keeping his gaze fixed emotionlessly on Alex. "What I meant. I mean, no offence, you don't seem to be anything special. Did you get caught up in some nasty business behind your parents back?"

"Wha-"

"Or maybe your friends weren't as friendly as they seemed," he mused, breezing on. "We get that a lot- teens who think they're invincible getting involved with the wrong people." Hardening his gaze, he slid his hands from their easy position on his lap and leant forward. "Well? Is that you? Parents not giving you enough pocket money, what?"

Breathless, the teen stared back-

Except he _wasn't _staring back.

His eyes were locked elsewhere, mouth gently open, breaths stilling and rising out of him like the tides of the sea. His body was stiff, but was dusted with powdery shivers. Words rolled visibly through his eyes but they pulled back, rearing from the danger of the open air. "I don't- I don't…" his voice seemed to fail him and he rocked, hunching over his knees, breathing in heavily.

Something came back to him- something that Alan Blunt had said.

_"Find out what happened in America."_

"What happened in America?"

That seemed to be the last breath on the straw.

It was quick- as fleeting as a splash of colour on a butterfly's wings- but it was there all the same.

He crumbled.

And underneath Agent Maxwell saw-

Pure terror.

* * *

Agent Maxwell thoughtfully stirred his tea with a silver spoon, the metal clinking in giggling bursts against the sides of his Mr Men cup. Unconsciously, his eyes travelled up to the now closed door where his (temporary. Oh please. May it be temporary) charge was sitting.

Restraining a linen sigh, he leant against the work surface and closed his eyes, softly inhaling. Alex hadn't said a word after his crumble. It was like…like he'd pushed too hard. Pushed too hard and now the kid was unwilling to let _anything _show. Even if whether or not he liked his lasagne (he'd worked _hard _on that!) or even anything seemingly trivial.

Grudgingly, taking a scalding gulp of tea and fanning his burnt mouth, he scowled.

He'd blown it.

His one chance of getting the kid to open up had probably been crushed like snowflakes under his feet and snatched by the wind.

Wonderful.

Agent Maxwell's head snapped up at the sound of a door opening.

Alex stared blankly back.

Swallowing another painfully hot gulp of tea (which had sloshed into his mouth with the surprise of the door opening) he tried to lean against the countertop coolly and mask his pain. "You goin' orf 'a geeedd?" his burnt mouth refused to let the cool "you going off to bed" out as his head had envisioned it- making it sound like he'd just had one too many drinks of alcohol.

"Yes." The response was clipped and cold. "I'm going to bed,"

Nodding, not trusting himself to use his sore mouth, he watched as Alex slid out of the room and out into the hallway to drift up the stairs.

When he was sure the teen had gone, he quickly turned and grabbed a glass of cold water, tipping it into his mouth with desperate speed. Holding yet another mouthful of freezing water in his mouth, he let out a muffled groan.

This was _definitely _not going well.

* * *

He had been weak letting his emotions show.

_("Weakness is not tolerated, Alex. You _know _that.")_

But he couldn't _help _it. He was just so…_tired._

_ ("Get up, Alex. We don't know the meaning of 'tired'.")_

Cold hands trailed up into his hair, grasping and gripping, wanting to tearteartear (spelt strangely the same as 'tear' as in water as in liquid that meant pain and sorrow and hurt and-) everything _out _of him. To _forget _and pretend and forget and let _go _because he was just so- so- _why couldn't people just leave him alone?_

And he wasn't _crying. _He wasn't _crying! _Why was he never _crying!_

Had even tears left him? Had even tears abandoned him? Was he worth so _little _that even those tiny droplets from snow had decided to wander seamlessly to somewhere less…_empty?_

He was so- so-

Why wasn't he _crying?_

Hands grasped his face, kneading, pushing, pulling, tugging- anything to get a reaction out of himself.

Brown eyes caught a mirror.

Breath vanished along with his tears.

Emptiness stared hollowly back.

He was so…_empty._

* * *

_ This is so awkward. _Agent Maxwell attempted to swallow his food as quietly as possible, feeling oddly nervous in front of this silent teen. They were at Day 5 now (he'd been _that _close to marking it on the wall like you saw in those prison shows) and nothing had progressed. It was like living in a house trapped in permanent winter- meaning you never wanted to get out of bed to face the cold.

It was _horrible._

Shovelling another forkful of sausage and gravy into his mouth, he realised that black pepper would go _extraordinarily well _with the meal.

His eyes dropped to the black pepper positioned right-

He stifled a groan.

-next to Alex's elbow.

_Man up, Max! _His internal voice barked (voice sounding eerily similar to his old sergeant back at the army. Creepy) loudly, mentally giving him a good slap across the face. Swallowing and smiling wanly, he pointed weakly to the pepper. "Could you pass me that, please?"

Wordlessly, Alex handed over the pepper shaker.

Trying to widen his already disease ridden looking smile, he reached out to accept the offering. "Thank-" he froze, staring at the back of the kid's exposed wrist. "What the hell is _that?"_

And suddenly the wrist shot back, pulling the material quickly over the recently shown gold dusted skin. Guarded eyes glared back.

Agent Maxwell clutched the black pepper in his hand, staring back at Alex in confusion. It had looked black and inky, swirls that he didn't-

"It's nothing," the teen's voice was strained- slightly strangled, eyes blurred as if he was seeing phantoms that he didn't want to see.

Agent Maxwell looked back down to his sausages and mash.

Sausages were always safer.

They finished the rest of their meal in tense silence, though, Agent Maxwell noted, Alex never used the same hand again to hand things over to him.

Agent Maxwell looked up as cutlery clattered crisply onto the plate.

Brown eyes gazed back, anxiety playing and rolling gold within their depths. Alex's lips trembled and moved to form ghosted words. Pursing his lips and glancing down at his cutlery, Alex tugged at his fingers. "You're not…going to _tell _anyone, are you?"

Dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, also having finished, Agent Maxwell eyed him, face masked. "Tell anyone what?"

"What you saw," he snapped, and then looked down quickly, muttering a soft apology.

Carefully folding the napkin, keeping his eyes on the dove white material, he spoke slowly, voice low. "I don't know, Alex. Was it something that I should tell someone?"

Staggered breathing. "Just answer my question,"

"No, Alex." He looked up, hands pressed against the perfectly folded material. "It doesn't _work _like that. You want a favour from me- you want me to not tell Blunt- I know. So you'd better tell me _why _I shouldn't tell him,"

"He already knows," the reply was quick.

Agent Maxwell's eyes narrowed. "Then what are you hiding from?"

"I'm not _hiding,"_

"You're hiding _something."_

"I'm not,"

A soft laugh escaped his lips. "You're a bad liar, Alex,"

He looked stunned, as if he'd physically hit him.

"Now, are you going to tell me what's going on?" his finger tapped the centre of the table, the noise sharp in the glass thin silence. "Or am I going to have to go tell-"

"No! You _can't!" _the words burst forth like a flurry of rain spun by thunder. Desperately, Alex gazed back, his hands gripping furiously at his wrists. "You can't tell him! You don't understand! You really don't! If you tell him…you _can't." _the voice was intense, stirring and wholly wild with feeling- the most feeling he had heard in a long time.

It set alarm bells ringing in his head.

This was important.

Maybe he had a chance to snatch those crushed snowflakes back from the interfering wind.

Visibly, treading carefully (like a panda…or, uh, a panther, he meant! A panther!) he softened his expression. "Alex," his eyes caught the way the teen jerked at the sound of his name, eyes swinging towards him as if he'd just cursed him to a life of eternal pain. Keeping his voice talcum powder indulgent he leant in gently. "I don't know what's going on with you, but I just want you to know that I specifically_ asked _for this job,"

Fuzzy eyes stared back. "What?"

He sighed and then smiled gently. "I _asked _for it. They told me some of what had happened to you-" his eyes took in the way Alex stiffened. "-and I found it horrific. Alex, I only want to help you,"

The boy swallowed dryly, his throat bobbing and eyes flipping down from his eyes and onto his tatty sleeves. "You can't help me," he whispered, voice rough.

"Of course I can. You just need to trust me," He smiled, Alex looking up to peer hesitantly at him. "Can you try that? I know it's been tough for you, but we need to just try and trust me,"

"Why should I trust you?" the words were spoken defensively, but Agent Maxwell could see the fraying and limp ends hanging from the statement- fraught for a summered reassure.

"Because, Alex, I only have your best interests at heart. And…I knew your father," laying it on a little thick?

His eyes widened, breaths jarring like rusted cogs in his chest. "Really?" his whisper was hoarse, hopeful.

_Fatherless or abandoned, then. Does his father work for MI6 since he believed me? _"Yep, you look just the same," he laughed warmly.

Nervously, he peered back.

"Trust me, then?"

Fingers played with the loose bits of thread on his sleeves. "Promise you won't tell anyone?" his voice was childish, infant- shocked Agent Maxwell.

"I promise."

* * *

Alex slipped the black biro pen into his pocket, rubbing at the ink he'd scrawled onto the back of his wrist with a thumb.

He'd promised.

A …something…pulled at his lips (close to a smile. Not quite a smile. Never really a-).

Agent Maxwell had passed the test.

* * *

"…on his right wrist. Yes. OK…I will do, yes sir…goodbye." Placing the phone down, he stretched out his stiff back muscles, smiling, pleased down at the phone.

After that little scenario in the kitchen, Alex had been a lot more trusting of him- even helping him with dinners, going out for walks- and more importantly-

Letting slip pieces of information.

Which he, of course, promised not to tell anyone.

Except there _were _no such as promises in the spy business.

Promises were made of mist.

"Who was that?"

Agent Maxwell froze and then turned round, smiling carelessly. "Just an old workmate," had he head?

For one frightening moment, he was sure that he saw the same deadness that he thought had gone entirely from his eyes creep back into their depths, but then it was gone- leaving him sure that he had just imagined it. "OK,"

Moving further away from the phone that shrieked _liarliar! _too loud, he glided up to Alex and ruffled his hair. "What, you hungry?" he teased.

The boy ducked away from the offending hand. "No, I was just wondering when I can go out,"

"Bored of me already?" he whined, sniffing in mock hurt.

"No, I just-" the teen stopped suddenly and looked at the door.

A little unsettled, he frowned at the door and then back at his (temporary, it was only-) charge. "Alex?"

A knock sounded on the door before the teen could answer.

Staring at each other, Agent Maxwell motioned for quiet through a finger to his lips. Bracing himself, ushering Alex further into the room, he turned and swept quickly to the door, making sure his gun was placed in easy reach and then swiftly unlocked the door.

A bored looking delivery man scowled back. "Took you long enough!"

Baffled, his hand falling only slightly away from the gun on his hip he stared. "Excuse me?"

The man rolled his grey eyes as if he was talking to an idiot. "Here, a delivery." His voice was obnoxiously loud, rough and raucous.

"Who's it from?" his eyes never left the man's face, wary for any facial tick's that might give away any hidden intention.

It didn't give away anything other than the man was in need of a good shave and had had a hearty lunch involving ketchup. "Dunno. Just got the order today- no names were given. Idiot probably forgot to put his name on the package after paying for the delivery- happens all the time,"

"Ok…" he said slowly. Odd.

"Sign here," the man demanded (what was going on with people nowadays? No patience!).

Hesitantly, he scrawled his loopy signature onto the offered clipboard.

Snatching it back, the stubby man shoved the package into his hands, glared at him once like it was his fault for his bunny rabbit dying and then scowled again. "Thanks. Bye."

Dazedly, watching the man saunter off down the garden path, he shrugged, using his foot to hook the door shut behind him, locking in whilst holding the soft bouquet in one hand.

What an odd idea.

A collection of white feathers and...1, 2, 3,4...19 Begonia flowers.

Coward? What for?

"Who was it?"

The voice startled Agent Maxwell more than he would've liked to admit. Pursing his lips in displeasure (and wounded pride for being startled by a fifteen year old), he frowned, stepping into the kitchen and pushing Alex along. "We've been through this. Don't come out of hiding until I say the coast is clear," he paused, waiting for a grudging confirmation of his point. Receiving none, he gazed down at Alex, brows furrowed. "Kid?"

"Who sent you those?" his voice was strangled, hands clenching at his sides.

Agent Maxwell stared at him. "We don't know," he kept his voice light, as if he hadn't noticed the sudden tension in Alex's demeanour. Deciding to chance a light push, he carried on. "Interesting choice, right? White feathers- coward," his eyes slid subtly onto Alex.

He choked back a breath, struggling to clear his expression. "I know what it means,"

"Alex," gently, he placed the feathers on the table top. "If you know who sent them, you know you can tell me. I haven't broken my promise yet, have I?"

"Have you?" he snapped.

Shocked, he pulled back. "Of course not!"

Hard eyes examined him, and then he seemed to deflate, pressing a hand against his forehead. "Not yet," the murmur was faint, close to disappearing. "I can't tell you yet…just- someone dangerous,"

Agent Maxwell watched him for a moment longer and then seemed to accept the answer with a small nod. "OK, Alex. Well, we'll leave them-"

"Please don't tell Blunt we got given feathers, OK? He'll be really-" his feet kicked against the floor- a restless and nervous movement. "Just, don't tell him, yeah?"

"Of course not," he waved the question away like one exasperated of having to answer the same question time and time again- which he _did. _The boy _constantly _asked for his promises and words and vows and- it was _tiring. _"Go and rest up for a bit, I'll make lunch soon- I just need to phone up the delivery place- try and find out who sent the feathers, OK?"

Alex looked ready to argue, but he raised an eyebrow and the teen nodded.

"Good,"

Agent Maxwell watched the teen leave before he picked up the phone and dialled in to Blunt's office. "Hello? I'd like to make a bank appointment with the supervisor…yes, I'll wait."

* * *

Breaths rough in his throat, Alex pressed a hand against his forehead, leaning back against the sofa and closing his eyes.

How had they _found _him?

Frostbitten trembles darted through his body, his eyes glazing and breaths getting quicker and quicker and – _no _they were going to get him _again _and- and he didn't _want to go back and- _please! _Oh Lord please don't let them get me-_

_ Quiet._

He went quiet.

Body still.

Breaths stopping.

It was OK. Everything was going to be- he was _safe._

Finally.

Finally he was _safe._

Agent Maxwell was with him. He'd _promised _to- to _look after him ("You don't need looking after, Alex.") _and to _keep him safe ("Stop asking ridiculous things and just eat your dinner.") _.

So he could relax. For once in his life he could relax. _Someone _else would make it better. That was right. A tentative smile slipped over his mouth, hesitantly moving to get more comfortable _("Never allow yourself-" shh.) _on the plush sofa. For once, he didn't have to do anything. For once, he wouldn't be doing the work. And maybe...maybe one day he _would _tell Agent Maxwell what had happened in America.

_Are you sure about that?_

Frowning, he shoved the voice down, shaking his head firmly, eyes moving resolutely to rest on whatever rubbish television show was showing. He couldn't afford to let himself listen to those voices. Not now _("Not again," soft and shadowy tears, begging. Shame. So much- "Please, not again. Go _away. _Leave me alone!"). _No more. He didn't know (_yes you do, you little liar) _know _whose _voice it was _(liar) _but he wasn't going to listen to it. He _wasn't._

_ But you _need _me, Alex. You really need me._ The voice was so _soft. _So _caring. When everyone else left you; when America happened, who was there for you?_

But _no, _his fingers dug into the armrest. He _wasn't _going to listen.

Soft voice, pleading, leeching. _I was. I was there for you. _Hands trailing through his hair, tenderly- just like he'd always wanted _(will you love me?) _just like he'd- so _warm- _oh, so _warm. No one else was. But _I'll _always look after you. Even when others leave you, I'll always be there for you._

And he couldn't _help _relaxing into the velvet of the voice. It was just so- so-

Why wouldn't they _love _him?

_I love you._

Desperately, he tore himself away from the whisper, from it's too warm, too gentle, too understanding hands.

_No. _It wasn't _real._

And suddenly the events of America was flashing right through his head- blinding and painful and so _cold- _and why had Maxwell turned the heater down?

He stood up.

He needed to move.

To- to _do _something.

He needed a friend.

_("Poor little Alex, all lost and alone.")_

His breaths trembled out of him (but he wasn't crying. He was never-) and he choked back a not-sob.

He needed someone to _talk _to.

When was the last time he'd talked to someone?

Before his brain had fully caught up with the movement, he realised that he was walking towards the living room again, towards Agent Maxwell (friend? companion?) who he knew was in that room.

_You don't need him, Alex. You need me._

No, he didn't. Stubbornly, he pulled away from the voice.

That voice was for cold days when he sat alone. For stormy silences and painful pauses. For days when all he wanted to do was sobcrylaughscream. For America-

Quickly, he snapped the lid down on that train of thought, hands reaching out to push the living room door open.

_You need me. You don't need him._

Yes.

He did.

He really needed him.

He called out, voice (_"Ian?") _soft and slightly tremulous _(weak). _"Max?" it was barely audible so his hands pushed the door silently inwards _(he had to be quiet! Quiet, otherwise they'd-), _stepping in softly, not quite knowing what he wanted the MI6 operative for.

The man still hadn't noticed him (no one ever did) and stood with his back facing Alex (_please look at me) _still on the phone.

He made to call out again when something stopped him.

"No…yes! I'm sure of it! He trusts me completely!"

What was…?

"Yes…OK…erm, feathers, white coloured along with Begonia flowers, 19 in total."

Was he really-?

" Yeah…he hasn't told me about America yet, but when he does, you'll be the first person to know, sir…Of course. I know my job…yes…I'll see what I can do, sir….goodbye."

Quickly, Alex slid away from the door, eyes wide, breaths tight.

Betrayal.

Absolute…_betrayal._

And it _hurt. _It really- it really- _(I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't-) – _and no one was- no one was- _why? _Why would he _do that? _He _trusted him! _It _hurt! _Oh it _hurt!_ Like knives and whips and that- that bullet and _words. Words words! He was so tired of words! _Words that said they'd do something and then did the opposite. Words that whispered and soothed when they really _stabbed_ and _stirred!_

Lies! Lies!

Why did everyone _(Ian? Jack? Tom?...Mummy?...Daddy?) lie _to him?

Why did everyone always lie to him?

Somehow he was wheezing, a hand clawing at his chest- and there was no _air! _Where had all the _air _gone?- the other reaching out, clawing for something, someone, somewhere-

_You don't need him. You need me._

A rush of air, steadying hands holding him upright- too warm, too safe, too kind-

But so _needed._

Yes.

He did.

He really needed it.

_Breathe, Alex. Breathe._

Why was he at the cooker?

"Oh!" Maxwell _(why did you lie? Why did you lie?)_, surprised, pleased. "Are you cooking today, Alex?"

…He was?

"That's great! What're you cooking!" a scrape of a chair, going to sit down.

He didn't…he wasn't-

A laugh. "Pasta? Cool! Sounds good!"

Pa…sta. Yeah. Just like- just like you _(Ian. Or was it Jack?)_ taught-

What was he doing again?

Sleeping pills?

Ah.

Ok.

* * *

Ms Jones sucked on her peppermint, lifting the paper and peering at the contents and words on it with an indifferent look. Finally, exhaling once, breaths minty, she let the paper fall, looking up to gaze at Alex. "The amount of sleeping pills that you slipped into Agent Maxwell's food could have killed him, Alex." Her voice was gently rebuking, fingers tapping lightly into the ebony wood of Blunt's desk.

But he wasn't _trying _to kill him.

It was an _accident._

He'd just forgotten to…count.

Ms Jones was looking at him sternly, eyebrows raised but eyes blank. "There's no need to lie to me, Alex."

What was wrong with lying?

_ He deserved it for hurting you, Alex. _And the voice was back, soothing and warm.

But he hadn't-

"As it is, Agent Maxwell is recovering in the hospital. That was a very dangerous and silly thing to do, Alex." Ms Jones pursed her lips, sitting up straighter. "We do not want you running again. What would have happened if you were to have gotten kidnapped or attacked? You were placed under protection for a reason Alex. This is a very tight-lipped case- no party is saying much," she paused, wanting him to say something, something about America _(blood and tears and-)_, the secret that no one was giving, he knew.

His eyes wandered to the pigeon sat peering into the office.

She sighed, but somehow it was soundless and emotionless. "The trick with the pen had us worried, Alex. Please don't go round placing false evidence again. It only serves to confuse the matter even more."

It was a _test _though- a test to see whether or not Agent Maxwell could be trusted with keeping information.

And…he couldn't.

Mr Blunt blinked slowly, hands folded on the desk, eyes pinned onto Alex. "I have placed you with another agent for the time being," his fingers twitched towards some files on his desk though his eyes remained hard and _(amused?) _on Alex. "I trust you won't try the same trick on this one."

He was amused, wasn't he?

He was daring him to try and do the same thing.

Little wonder-boy Alex Rider.

How are you going to jump through this hoop?

"Come in, Agent Twill."

Alex's eyes closed.

_Breathe Alex. Breathe._

_ Trust no one._

_ Everyone lies._

* * *

**There y'are! Well, hopefully you liked it! If you want more, you know what to do! ASK! This piece is for YOU, not me! Well then, ask away, review away, and tell me what you'd like to read! Ta ta, and thanks for reading!**


End file.
